It Never Happened
by Abster1
Summary: SpencerSam Spencer and Sam share a few intimate moments; moments no one can know about. Filled with innuendo and vague allusions. Rated teen for a REASON. One-shot.


A/N: This is a Spam fic - Spencer/Sam. Which already makes it a little racy. This one is even moreso. I can't stress that enough, so if you might have any misgivings about a Spam fic - please don't flame. I did warn you.

This idea actually came from the Carly/Freddie pinning down, but my Spam obsession transferred it. This was never supposed to be as long as it is now. All three scenes should have been about the size of the first. Instead, they doubled in size each time.

This fic, I could say a lot about. But I won't - I want you to review still. In the end though, I'm happy with it. Even if it's a tad muddled, it helped me get back into the writing swing, which I'm happy about. So, without further adieu... Enjoy!

* * *

"Can we please not tell anyone about this?" he whispers, fear and shock etched across his face.

You nod absently, knowing your expression mirrors his, "Yeah, yes. Of course." He nods absently, relief visibly going through him, relaxing him. You shake your head to clear it, and as the door opens, revealing your best friend and her – ergh – _boyfriend_, you try to ignore the tingling on your lips. From the most amazing kiss, the one you have to forget. The one that never happened.

Freddie and Carly are talking animatedly about the meeting for iCarly they were just at, and you know you need to pay attention, but Spencer is standing in between you and them. He looks relaxed enough, but you can tell his shoulders are tense. You try to tune into the conversation, but all you can feel is Spencer's presence, and the tingling on your lips.

But it never happened.

* * *

You lie on your back, breathless. Your heart is racing, and you've never been so confused. You can't think anymore, and your chest keeps tightening, your breathing refusing to regulate. Next to you, you hear his breathing, just as ragged as yours. Something inside you clenches again with feeling, and you think you might get sick. Except you can't move.

He fidgets a little, and you can feel how close he really is, his heat radiating over to you. Heat has never felt so appealing, and without thinking you put your hand over his, tangled within the sheets. His breath catches, and you can see, as you close your eyes, how his eyes are bulging. You swallow with some difficulty, and focus everything you have on his hand under yours.

You can't think about how you're sticking to the sheets, and you definitely don't want to think about the medley of wetness surrounding you. His hand, that's all you need. His hand and the ability to breathe. That's it.

Quietly, one of you whispers, choking on the words, "Please – please, can we not… not tell anyone?"

There's an enveloping silence, and you feel his hand turn to interlace with yours, unconsciously you feel yourself squeeze it, as if to console him. You close your eyes, swallowing the emotions threatening to rise within you, taking a deep breath to say, "Yeah. Sure."

Now all you want to do is move, so you stand up, taking all of the sheets with you, wrapping them around yourself. You make it out to the living room, not looking back, and the stinging behind your eyes pours out slowly, and now your face is wet too. You crouch down, hugging yourself to make the tears hurt less. You want to turn and look back, but you won't. You won't let yourself see Spencer, who has sat up, knees to his chest, his face buried in his hands.

The sounds of your shuttering breaths as you sob resound through the apartment, and it tears you apart to hear. More than anything though, you wish Carly would come home. You want it to come out. Everything. You want it to be forced out of you, the truth – and you know that right now you would tell her anything, everything.

Except it never happened.

But you can't ignore it.

* * *

The elevator dings open and you step out warily. The hallway is deserted, and looks just like it always does. Except you never have time to look at the hallway, normally you're inside now. Slowly, you manage to put one foot in front of the other. You're going to see Carly – your _best friend_ Carly. The person you do iCarly with – your web show – there is no reason to not go into that apartment. The one you practically live at yourself.

The only reason doesn't exist. It can't exist, remember? It didn't happen, right?

Right. (Your mind says _wrong_.)

You take a deep breath as you stand in front of the door. You're trying to get rid of everything as you exhale, and it helps. You put a smile on your face with some effort, knowing this mask will work. With a spurt of courage, you knock and open the door.

Carly's sitting on the couch, obviously waiting for you, smiling. "Hey."

"Hey."

"So Freddie's already –"

"Carly, do you know where my –" Spencer walks into the living room, but very suddenly he sees you and stops where he is. "Sam. Hi."

"Hi." You stare at each other for a second, and then Carly cuts in like nothing happened. Because nothing did.

"Your goggles are sitting on the counter next to the fridge."

"_Thank you." _He goes off to the kitchen a little too quickly, but his sister has already turned back to you.

"Freddie's already upstairs messing with new angle shots. You coming?" She turns to the stairs, waiting for you to follow.

This is where you're supposed to say, 'Yeah,' and follow her to the studio. What you really do is say, "In a minute – I need to blow my nose. And I think I left something down here yesterday."

She says, "Okay," walking up the stairs, like it's nothing to just leave you downstairs with her brother. Because it's not.

You glance guiltily back at her as she climbs the stairs. You don't have to blow your nose, but you feel worse that you weren't lying about leaving something here. You remember taking off your bracelet nervously as you sat on the couch. Right then is when you should've realized you were in too deep. You're looking around the side table where you swear you put it, but –

"I think it's under a cushion." Spencer is looking at you over the counter, and since you can't think of a response, you simply look where he suggested. You lift up two cushions before the small gold trinket catches your eye. You turn to thank him, but his expression catches you off-guard again.

"Sam." You're afraid of what would happen if the couch and a counter weren't separating you. His face is solemn, and it hurts to look at, especially as he stares at you, sad and longingly. You're waiting for him to speak, but instead he reaches under the counter and steps out toward you. "Sam," he holds a bouquet of flowers for you, close enough to touch, "I'm sorry."

You can't look him in the face, so you don't. You look at the flowers, taking them in your hands. You feel his eyes, and try not to think of the heartbreaking sound in his voice. Breathing in the scent of the flowers you look up, and his eyes are saying again, a million times over, _I'm sorry, I was stupid, I'm sorry, I'm an idiot, I'm _so_ sorry…_ You lean up, kissing his cheek. "I'm sorry too."

* * *

A/N: Any questions, please leave them in a review. Anything ELSE - please leave in a review. I hope you enjoyed, so if you did, didn't, wished you did, or did and then thought about it and didn't... please enlighten me in a review. Should I write more Spam? Some Creddie? Get my butt back to my Moliver/Lackson story? PLEASE leave a review.

-Abz


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